Crazy Eyes
by spinoza-off
Summary: One-shot. Set after the Spemily fight in 4x05, a further argument and conversation ensues between them. Spencer-centric. Spemily friendship.


_A/N: I have two stories to update but I just had to write this little thing. It's a little crappy but I couldn't let it go. Set after the Spemily in 4x05, you just have to imagine Hanna never went to Cicero to get arrested. _

_Thanks for reading!_

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Pretty Little Liars, its characters or its storylines. But I still love them to death._**

* * *

They walk slowly, keeping their distance along the sidewalk.

Groups of girls screaming – girls who could be like them – and hey ya boys obstruct the way to the motel every ten, fifteen, twenty steps, according to Spencer's mental count, depending on how far they are getting away from the sorority house. Its a high rate. Saturday night, here at Cicero College, means there's not more to expect. But Spencer can't stand college parties. College is serious, it's a big step in life, it's about learning and setting out and realizing one's potential before London – San Francisco – New York come bowing their skyscraper heads and curtsying their skyscraper legs to them – to her. She needs a college where the party experience doesn't even exist, where it is forbidden from the earth, not allowed. The beer pong. The morons with their unsuccessful fluffy lopsided smiles, wanting to be funny, mischievous, when they've never really been able to smirk on purpose even with half a tequila in their blood (not like she can do it, for sure, or even Wren), saying absurdly uncatchy notes, I've seen her in my dreams, that smoking hot girl, that's where, what's up with you, you're the nerdy girl, you're the girl with the eyes, I bet boys are afraid of you but I'm not, you would be a Lannister and you would be a Hufflepuff, you would not be made to rule, all these pick up lines that could never work with anyone unless she had less than half a brain or a problem with her own concept of _charity_. Which was never Alison's style, by the way. Ugh. Who was sharing the experience with Alison, she asks herself, because that's what they need to know now regardless of everything else. Who was the beach hottie who would take her here or whom she would secretly call on the phone? She knows about the panic room but she hasn't got an identification yet. And that's what she needs. She's not been able to even tell Emily about it – not yet – not since they fought 2 hours ago and not since she found her outside, in the crowded yard, approximately 574 steps ago, the curve of surprise and fear along her brows becoming increasingly enigmatic and closed off the moment they started to walk without a word of agreement or repentance.

Emily is walking faster, and Spencer can't see her face, only the curtain of hair and her back.

She's mad.

That much Spencer can say.

They're both mad.

And when they're mad, it's difficult to find a way to communicate news about a lead.

Of course Hanna has called a million times to ask advice about her mother, but Spencer needs to follow the lead and Aria is not here to help – she should be, Spencer thinks in annoyance – and Emily is the one who is here, if for a completely different reason.

Her feet raise the stakes.

"I found a panic room."

Emily returns the glance with a blank expression.

"And I found a jerk in the woods and a shrine to some weird house mother."

"What? No, you're not listening", Spencer speaks louder and walks faster, "I found a panic room and that's where Alison used to call, that was Tippi's number." It's like her fingers are pointing in so many directions, but the truth is she's trying to control her hands – and her eyes and her mouth.

Now she sees recognition on Emily's face.

"A panic room."

"Completely closed."

Emily nods. "Well, I guess the trip here was useful." She continues walking – slower.

So they're still mad.

"Aren't you going to say anything else?"

Emily turns around – eyes wide open. "Sure", she says slowly, "good job, Spencer."

"Will you cut the crap out?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"We have a _lead_, for heaven's sake, Emily."

"So", Emily answers in fake calmness again, "congrats again."

Only a sigh cuts Spencer off from a storm. Only a deep, shaky sigh she never thought she would be able to breathe. She feels like she's gaping again.

"Stop it."

They've actually stopped walking and are standing in front of a dark lame building.

"Listen", Emily says in a more conciliatory tone, "it's a bad night, okay? I'm glad you found about the room."

"No, you're not."

"I am glad."

She's not glad. And what did she just say?

"What's the thing about the house mother?"

It's Emily who sighs now – a gesture that seems more characteristic. "Nothing", she shrugs, "I'm not sure, it's weird." There's a frown forming on her forehead.

"What's weird?"

Because weird could be a lead – another lead.

"It's some kind of totem they have in there for this woman who was kind of a bitch… and, I don't know, maybe you should question the girl tomorrow."

The girl.

Plus the totem – who would think Emily could use the word totem like that? She likes it.

"What girl?"

"The sorority sister I was talking to earlier so I can come to this shitrat uni."

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

"I didn't mean to imp…"

"Yeah, you did, all right? So save it."

Why are they even here again? Emily made her point. She was here for the uni, not for the A-Tippi lead. It's clear. Why is it still a conversation topic?

"Why are you so mad at me?", she questions Emily instead of the sorority girl, just because Emily is right next to her and the sorority girl is not, so she has to start with something and this is presenting itself shiny and awful despite the fact that _she_ is the one saving face and finding clues right now. "Just because I said you were flirting with that guy Brendan?"

"You were right, okay?", Emily answers heatedly, "he did think I was flirting."

"So I told you."

"So you still don't have the right to tell me when and how I should come out to people."

"Yeah, I know, but…"

Is that it?

"Why do you have to be so insensitive and selfish all the time?"

"_Selfish?_"

"Insensitive."

"You said selfish." And it did hurt. She doesn't say it but it must be written on her face because Emily seems to recoil from there. "There's a reason why I'm here and it's for you too, for Hanna and her mom and Aria and Caleb and Paige and Toby and everybody, okay?"

And Toby.

"I know that."

"So that's not selfish, the mere def…"

"I take it back", Emily cuts off, Emily crosses her arms, and the frown is increasing, "it's true you're the most committed person in the world to this mystery."

"Huh," there's sarcasm in there, "you're not so good at covering up the snark, Em."

"That's because I'm not trying."

"Nice."

"_Charming_."

"I didn't mean to say you had to come out to him, okay?"

Will this settle it?

"That's exactly what you tried to say", Emily attacks, and Spencer wonders was it such a bad thing to say? Because misleading people just for pure personal gain, it's not that she can't understand it, in fact it's a perfectly natural and justifiable means of pursuing self-interest and self-gain, but Emily has never been _that_ girl, will never be _that_ girl. She opens her mouth, but Emily speaks first. "Can you never ever put yourself in someone else's shoes?"

"Whose shoes?"

"I don't know, mine!"

Just like that: Emily turns around in a flowing hair storm-off and they are fighting again. And she doesn't even know how it happened, much as the first time she wasn't really aware of it until it was too late. She didn't use to fight with Emily a lot. Well, more like never. But that was in the past. In the past. But Emily has gotten a lot more stubborn and belligerent since… she's not sure since when, but surely after Maya died. And shoes. No one's ever asked her to put herself in someone's shoes, well, she knows people shouldn't ask you to do it, it's like the kind of thing people do naturally when they're not sociopathic, and that's not her kind of crazy anyway, she's not sociopathic, but she doesn't really have the heart now, no, she _does_ have the heart, she just doesn't have the _mind_ to think of everything all the time because…

She tries to follow the war march.

"Stop it!", she commands again, because no, this is not right, they don't have to fight, they're here for the lead, all right?, and she's a Targaryen as much as she's a Lannister and she won't be asking for Emily's head because, right, Emily is the person most available and reliable to become the Hand of the King – of the Queen. "And talk to me."

"Just let it go."

"No."

"Just tell me about the panic room and let the rest go."

Emily seems tired, almost willing to drop the offended act too.

"I'm sorry I was right", she offers, "and I'm sorry you're worried about college but…"

"Oh, finally it's made it to your head."

"Well, excuse me for thinking you were a good choice for a sidekick coming here…"

"Exactly, next time you should bring Aria."

Exactly.

"That is bullshit!"

She's brought Emily hundreds of times. She'd bring Emily in a heartbeat. They've always been good together. Emily is smart and brave and quick at following her indications. Although she should've definitely brought Aria this time, to be honest, because Emily is refusing to collaborate and it seems more personal that it should.

"Well, excuse _me_ for thinking you'd give a shit to think about your friends having other problems besides whatever Tippi is singing on the phone!"

"I give a shit!"

It's like a shrill – the moment her own voice rises she can literally feel the night's skin goosepumping, raising on end, like they're in the forest – she is – but they're not – and she wonders why it doesn't happen when Emily yells. Emily was yelling a moment ago.

A couple of drunken girls pass by and giggle at them, and one of them says get a room.

"We have one!"

Emily's eyes widen so much Spencer can clearly read the embarrassment and also shyness and an upcoming blush which is funny, given the situation.

"FYI", she adds in the direction of the girls, just for the sake of it, "in case you needed it!"

One girl waves at them and the other one winks.

Great.

Emily is blushing.

It is true they have a hotel room, of course. But they are not sharing the bed. Although they could and it would mean nothing of significance because, first, they've shared the bed one million times already and, second, Emily would never feel the need to play charming to her. Which, the thought of it – it makes her sort of roll her eyes at herself and wink-wink and smirk and she could swear a part of her is blushing too but another part is laughing and there's this background sense of general disbelief (she's probably gaping again). Really. She needs to sign the peace treaty with Emily now, she feels like she's thinking too much.

They start to walk – slowly, one step at a time, same pace, in line.

No competition.

No Hand.

She's not the queen and maybe Emily would find it seriously annoying tonight, even if the position of the Hand is the most important position the king – the queen – can offer to a person because it implies trust as well as reliability. Not the same thing, as you all know.

Maybe Aria would like it.

"You're gonna get into a good college, Em", she blurts out when they're only steps from the hotel front, "really."

Emily stops, and the frown unties like a cordal knot, like a muscular knot.

"We don't know that, and it's unlikely if I can't swim."

"But you're gonna swim again."

"That's another thing we don't know."

She grabs her elbow.

"Listen, when I was at Radley there was this moment I thought I might never get out and maybe it'd be the best thing but it didn't matter because if I didn't get out then it didn't matter if it was good or bad", she says it all in a row, without pausing, without breathing, "but then I got out, I did, and I'm here."

With you.

With the Hand – Emily's eyes soften instantly, and there's this movement in the corner of her mouth – The Hand's Heart.

Emily looks down.

"It's… Thanks."

"I'm sorry about Stanford but there'll be something better."

"Better than Stanford?"

"Better than Stanford for sure if Stanford can't see how good you'd be for them."

"What if there isn't?"

"There will be."

They gaze at each other before Emily lowers down her eyes again and they keep walking into the hotel. There will be something better than UPenn too, of this she is sure, because everything is for the best, everything is better – if she is out, and she is out. Gryffindor. That's it. That's what Emily would be – also the Hand – also a knight except she's a woman.

The lights are out, but she knows none of them are sleeping.

Thoughts keep clinging.

What if it wasn't the beach hottie Alison was calling there? What if it was someone else? What if Emily can't make it to a good school? What if she lied to her about it and gave her false promises just to make herself feel better and to shut her up and what if Emily is stuck here – in Rosewood – with nowhere to go and what if Toby's mother didn't kill herself?

The sheets are warm under her impatience.

"Paige's going to Stanford", she hears Emily say from the other bed, "you know."

"Good for her."

"Yeah."

Shoes.

"It's fine if you two don't go to the same school, Em."

Emily sighs. "Yeah, I know", a pause seems to indicate she's really weighting the next words, "I just thought it'd be a nice way to get out of here and have a future with her."

"It'd be a really cool way."

Stanford.

"Yep."

"But it's not the only one."

"Right."

"There'll be something better than UPenn too." She holds her breath. Would this be considered selfish, insensitive? She knows she's not the most sensitive person. "There's just… We have to keep looking."

Emily shifts in her bed.

"I'm sorry I said that."

"What?"

"The snot-rat thing." Oh, the snot-rat thing. "And the selfish thing." That one too.

"Apology accepted."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"You mean I'm never charming?"

"No, you can be, but you don't usually need to be."

"Sometimes I have to be charming too." Like that time in the School for the Blind. She had to smile a lot. Obviously she doesn't have a killer smile like Emily – killer lashes either, like ladylike bats batting bats at Brendan. "Maybe not like you."

"Anyway, I'm sorry."

There's a silence.

"Do you really think I get away with everything because my parents will get me out?"

A pause – more sheet-creaking – more shifting.

"Not with everything", comes the answer. "I know it's been hard for you."

It's been hard.

"You mean they've been hard on me?"

They mean parents – Hastings – Lannisters – repositioning sofas and heads.

"Yeah."

"Are you frowning?" For some reason she can tell.

"What?"

She repeats the question, now more certain than ever: "Are you frowning?"

"Uh… No."

"You are."

"How do you know?"

"Cause you own The Frown."

"I don't own any frown."

"You do", Spencer assures, "every time you're surprised or angry or feeling guilty, so which one is it now?"

"Guilty", Emily concedes, "sort of."

Yes!

"Don't worry, I can take it."

But can she?

"Em?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I go to your bed?"

"Sure."

She sounds surprised, but welcoming, and it takes 30 seconds and more sheet shifting till Spencer is positioning in Emily's bed.

"Are you okay?", Emily asks, a tinge of worry in her voice. "You need something?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm really sorry I said that."

"Are you frowning again?"

"No."

"Are you rolling your eyes?"

"Spencer!"

She chuckles, because Emily was obviously frowning and now is obviously rolling her eyes and the second after there is a smile crossing her lips – she can tell.

"You're probably right, I can get pretty snot-ratty."

"No, that's not…"

"Do you think I'd ever throw you under the bus, though?"

"No."

Emily is now holding her breath – Spencer can tell – it's funny but it's not, because there was a time Emily said that, and now it's hitting her right after remembering it. She doesn't know if you is you or if it's all of you, nevertheless. She has to give it some thought – later.

"But you said that once."

"We had to pretend we were fighting."

"Right."

"I know tonight we weren't pretending."

"Exactly."

"But I don't think you'd ever do anything, I just… sometimes you make me mad."

A smile crosses her lips – even though it's so unexpected.

"Yeah, I see that."

"I'm sorry."

"I know how my parents are, Em."

"It doesn't give me the right to attack you for it."

"Same I don't have the right to tell you to come out."

Right.

"Anyway, it's not an excuse." She sounds mortified and extremely frowning.

"What did that jerk in the woods do? Was it Brendan?"

"Brendan? No, it was some other jerk playing a prank on me."

No lead material.

"Do you think I have crazy eyes?"

"Crazy eyes?"

"Yeah, crazy eyes."

Emily turns to face her. "No, you have intense eyes, not crazy eyes."

"_Intense_ eyes", Spencer repeats, "but what kind of intense?"

"Not the kind of crazy."

"You sure?"

"Spencer, you're not crazy, you've never been crazy, you had a mental breakdown."

"And doesn't that make me crazy somehow?"

"No." The sound is horrified now. "Of course not. You were at Radley, yes, which I still think was a whole mistake, but you're one of the most capable, sensible, intelligent people, and with all the pressure you were under you…"

She grabs her hand.

"Thanks."

"You do not have crazy eyes."

"But it wouldn't be so bad if I had them, right?"

She feels Emily squeezing her fingers tightly. "No, it wouldn't be, but you don't have them."

"Not even then?" At Radley. "Were you scared?"

"A little", Emily admits, "for you."

"I'm sorry."

It's too little to say. She saw the fear in Emily's eyes – The Frown – and not once did she care, she decided not to care for it, she did away with it. Her own crazy eyes fill with tears.

"It's okay."

Gryffindor.

The Hand.

What can she say? She's been so insensitive to everyone's pain. You don't have the monopoly on pain, Spencer. You'd throw us under the bus. A garbage bag flowing to her hair. Emily coming in with cupcakes, disapproval and concern on her face as Andrew Campbell flies by. Emily coming to Radley, lips parting, eyes widening in pure concern. Emily hugs her in the restroom, I know something happened to you and Toby, I'm giving you time, Emily the sooner you wrap your mind over it the better, Toby is A, Emily speaking French and misunderstanding everything, but who was mistaken, who was in error, who was in mortal error of the two, Emily here, Emily there, and she can't even order the memories in chronological order, she's lost the order, she doesn't know which happened first and which happened second or even if more things happened, but right now she is certain more things happened, more things where Emily was there or did things or said things that she can't even remember because they are not registered – insensitive, insensitive, but loyal. How many things has she missed? How many details, how many people, how many parts of people, and when did she miss Emily being there, how much does she know her for real?

Gryffindor.

The Hand. The Frown. The Hand's Heart.

She snuggles into her, but not too obnoxiously, just a little – just enough.

"I'm sorry."

Emily hugs her with the same warmth of a natural gentle force.

In her dreams she falls down in the forest, she's running in the woods, she's thinking it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter anymore, what if it doesn't matter at all, she's breathless, she's grabbing Emily's hand like a rock.


End file.
